


Dynamite

by chooken



Category: Westlife
Genre: Angst, Gay Pride, M/M, Secret Relationship, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-08 03:30:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19862794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooken/pseuds/chooken
Summary: Stood on a hostel rooftop during Dublin Pride, Kian and Shane make a promise.





	Dynamite

The hand that slips into his is warm in the chilly night air.

“You look sad.”

“Sorry. Just thinking.” Kian closes his eyes. Breathes out. Feels Shane drift in behind him, other hand settling on his shoulder. Tilts his head back. It's bright up here on the roof. At some point the clouds have cleared, and though the city is alive with lights he can see the occasional glint of stars. Lips press to the back of his neck.

“I'm sorry.”

“Yeah.” He wants to say it's okay. It isn't. “Well.”

“It's not up to me.”

“I know.” From his shoulder, a gentle trace to his hip. Drifts around his front to pull him flush, warm palm pressed to his stomach and Shane pressed to his back.

“Mark's wandered off,” Shane murmurs. Kian snorts. Probably with that slapper he found at the bar. Nicky something. They'd been pretty attached to each other. Kian's glad for him. For their abandon. For the glitter on Mark's cheeks.

For what they'll be tomorrow morning, waking up late on a Sunday morning in somebody's bed, that slight tang of awkwardness that isn't sure if this is a one time thing. He's felt that before. With Shane. It isn't...

“Maybe next year. We can figure it out.”

“I'm here now, Shay.” Kian can't muster up annoyance. They've had this conversation too many times. “I can't keep...” He breathes out. Breathes out again. Feels Shane match it. “Where did you say you were tonight?”

“Study group.”

“Yeah,” Kian murmurs bitterly. The breaths are still matched to his, a swell against his back that makes him almost think they're in sync.

“You don't have to stay with me.” Kian barks a laugh. “I'm serious.”

“Okay.” Kian looks up again. The parade's over, but the street's still full of people, the barriers moved and bodies stumbling into the road in splashes of colour and light and cheer. Study group, apparently. Never mind a three hour drive to Dublin, a dodgy hostel that he'd booked for the three of them almost a year ago to beat the rush. They'd been making plans, then. He, Shane and Mark. Giggling and saying how fun it would be, going to Pride.

He'd thought things would be different by now. He and Shane had still been new and Mark had been edging around the idea of his sexuality in that way Mark did, trying out odd haircuts and occasionally saying something really inappropriate that would leave all three of them in bits, drunk at the lough and Shane's hand in Kian's. Mark's more confident now. Nineteen and gorgeous and maybe Kian's jealous, a bit, because by now he'd thought...

“Kian.”

“If you're going to play the martyr, Shane, you can pack it in.”

“I'm not...”

“Do you want me to leave you?”

“No.”

“Then shut up.” Shane goes to protest. Gives up. Kian gets it, he supposes. Shane's the baby. Mammy's favourite little boy. The one who cries, sometimes, in the middle of the night, and Kian pretends he doesn't know because if Shane hates himself that much, then Kian must be to blame, and that isn't a conversation he feels like tempting. He wants to be like they were, when things felt heady and dangerous. Snogging in the backseat of Shane's car, parked out of the way behind a farmer's hedges. Feeling that tense moment of anticipation right before Shane's hand had skated the top of his belt and he'd known, just known, that if anyone was going to be there first...

Awkward. Their jeans in the front seat and Kian had ended up on the bottom, had accidentally kicked the car window when he'd felt the shudder of getting close. They'd both frozen, worried he'd broken it, then when it had turned out to be okay they'd laughed so hard Shane had half-fallen into the seat-well, into a pile of old McDonalds wrappers he'd been promising to clean out for months.

Kian had helped him back up. Crawled into the front seat while Shane had nipped out, naked from the waist down, and folded the back seats down until they could both climb into the expanded space of the boot, strip off their shirts as well, and make slow love on a beach-towel, breathing each other's names in the dark.

“What you smiling about?”

“Just...” He turns. Nuzzles awkwardly into a perfect nose. Accepts a peck on the mouth that hurts for its honest affection. “Do you really think we'll work it out?”

“I think I'd have to be crazy not to try.” Hazel eyes catch his. He can hear the faint pop of fireworks going off, somewhere in the distance. The proper ones aren't supposed to start for another half hour. “I know things aren't what we want. I know it's my fault.” Kian shrugs. They've had this conversation too many times to open it up again. “When I can move out I'll tell them.”

“You really think they won't like it.”

“I think I don't know.” Shane hesitates for a moment. “I... I think that's the part that scares me the most, actually. I always knew they loved me. But maybe I don't know that well after all. I can't...” His voice breaks. Kian covers Shane's hands with his own. “You knew your parents were going to be okay. I know you were scared but...”

“I wasn't scared,” Kian murmurs. Shane's forehead presses to his nape. “I was nervous. Because I didn't know how to say all the ways I love you. How to explain without it sounding...” He can't help but laugh. The stream of nonsense that had come out of his mouth that day, his mam's laughter when she'd mentioned all the sleepovers making more sense now. He'd felt his pulse in his throat. Felt it beat for Shane.

“We'll be back next year,” Shane promises. “By then I'll have told them, and no matter what they say we'll be here. Down there.” He points to the parade route, the crush of people. Thousands of bodies moving to a hundred different beats. There's a couple snogging in the crook of a tree. Kian can't tell what gender they are. He suppose it doesn't matter, so long as they're happy. “I'm proud of you. I want you to be proud of me too.”

“I am. Shay...” He turns in strong arms. Realises Shane's been crying from the damp on his cheeks and can't abide that. “I want to show you off to the world. Do you know how beautiful-” His own laugh sounds a little like a sob. “Sorry. Fuck.” He lifts the corner of his jacket, begins to wipe away Shane's tears. Kisses him twice before he's done to taste the salt. Feels a tongue dart at his. Kian giggles. The roof is packed and there's nowhere to move but he doesn't mind. Not when Shane's hands are settling into his jeans pockets, pulling him close. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Shane murmurs. Kian rests their foreheads together. “Hey.” Looks down. Kian's hands settle into the collar of his shirt, holding them together. “You're enough,” he says softly. Kian looks up again, confused. “If it all goes wrong and they kick me out.”

“Shay,” Kian breathes. Overwhelmed. “It won't come to...”

“If it does,” Shane interrupts. He's firm. “If it comes to that. I want you to know.” Kian nods, caught by the intensity in his eyes. “If it goes fine, then it does. But I don't ever want you thinking I would have given you up.”

“You just said I didn't have to stay with you.” 

"You don't. You have other options.” Kian shakes his head, laughing. “I don't.” The hands on his arse pull him in tighter. “Options are for people who don't know what they want and I do. You're enough. You always have been.” Kian wraps around him. Arms around his shoulders and cheek to cheek. Feels one hand slide up to settle on his lower back, the other still possessive on his arse. Wants to cry. Wants Shane more.

“You're enough too,” he whispers. The arms around him tighten. “You and all your bullshit.”

“You love my bullshit.”

“I love _you_.” Shane snorts in his ear. “Next year?”

“Next year.” There's another rattle of fireworks somewhere that probably aren't quite legal. “We've got another twenty minutes. Want to sneak back to the room?”

“What if Mark's there?”

“He's not,” Shane laughs. Kian twists to look. Realises Mark's stood at the other end of the roof, squashed in a corner against the railing, his face close to being eaten off. He's picked up a sparkly pair of devils horns along the way somewhere, though they're sitting a bit askew. As is Nicky's basketball tank.

“Fair play.”

“Utter chancer,” Shane agrees. “Room?”

The stairwell's a crush. They apologise their way down, hands caught so they don't lose each other in the crowd. The room isn't much. Just three single beds and what could almost be called a bathroom.

Kian lays down. Pulls Shane on top and feels them meld together. Skin to skin and the fit of a body he knows better than his own.

Afterwards, Shane nestled in his arms and the thud of music pushing up through the floorboards, he looks up at the moon through the window above the bed. Drifting in the clear sky.

The bang startles him. Shane shifts to look. Another one, the whistle of the rocket, then the pop of an explosion. Purple sparks splashing a watercolour reflection against the glass.

“Pretty,” Shane murmurs. Green. Red. Purple again.

Kian kisses his temple. Hears the roar of the crowd, somewhere outside, and remembers a simpler time. He and Shane snuggled in a tent in his back garden, making stories with GI Joes and watching the fireflies dance.

“Next year,” he whispers. “We'll be enough until then.”

Shane nods, the colours painting his skin a rainbow.


End file.
